“I want more green tea,” Devon said.
“Here it is,” Sandy declared, reaching behind her for the basket of tea bags. Peering above my book, I saw that the edges of Sandy’s mouth were turned up in a tiny smile.
“I want the loose kind, not the tea bags,” Devon said.
“I’m sorry, we only have the bags,” Sandy said, almost unable to contain how delighted she felt to be delivering the news.
“But—” Devon said. You could tell by the expression on her face that she’d just figured out what ploy Jane had played on her earlier.
“Never mind,” she said, clearly pissed. She took a swig of water and set the water bottle down on a side table. “Where’s Cap and Whitney?” she demanded of no one in particular.
“They’re out shooting with Mr. Cohen,” Sandy told her. “They probably won’t be up for a bit.”
Devon turned on her heels, strode toward the stairs, and headed down. A minute later, I tossed my book aside and sprang up from the couch, deciding to catch up with her.
She was still in the foyer when I reached the bottom of the stairs, her back to me. Her hand was stuffed in her brown hobo-style handbag, which was parked on a wooden bench. She spun around in surprise at the sound of my footsteps.
“Why are you creeping up behind me?” she demanded.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I told you I was. Isn’t that enough?” She stormed across the foyer and flung open the door to the passageway.
I trudged back upstairs and waited for Jessie. After she arrived we piled our plates high with food and carried them over to the table just as Tory and Tommy departed. Jessie was in a giddy mood over Scott, and kept glancing up in anticipation of seeing him again. He finally arrived, along with Cap, Whitney, and Christian. They joined us at the table and I couldn’t help but note how lovey dovey Cap and Whitney appeared. Richard and Jane each stopped by for food at different points but took it away with them, Richard saying he was finishing up an article in his room, and Jane announcing sullenly that she was going to eat while she watched a movie in the media room downstairs. I wondered if she’d been chewed out about the tea.
Once lunch wound down, Scott said that he’d be leading a short hike himself before the snow got too deep. The others all volunteered to go, but since I’d had my hike earlier, I passed. Instead, I curled up on the couch once more with my book. I checked my BlackBerry again and found a text from Beau. He’d decided to return on Sunday, after all, and suggested we talk later. What did that mean? I wondered. Maybe he really had wanted to please me by coming back a day early, but since I wasn’t going to be home, he’d decided there was no point.
At around five I finally headed back through the passageway to the small barn. I was stunned to see how much snow had fallen. It was the heavy, wet kind that sparkled in a million places and turned the woods into a wonderland. At this rate of accumulation, it was hard to imagine we were going to end up with only six inches.
Despite the sluggish feeling the afternoon had produced in me, I told myself that the evening was bound to be more entertaining. We’d all be together at that big dining table, and there’d be less of a fragmented feeling. At about seven fifteen, showered and dressed in tight black jeans and a sleeveless silver sweater, I knocked on Jessie’s door. She was flashing major cleavage and had her brown hair half up in a totally fetching style.
“Let’s go the outside route,” she told me. “The area right outside is shoveled, and I want to see how pretty it is out tonight.”
“We haven’t got our coats on,” I said.
“We’ll run,” she said, laughing.
No sooner were we out the door than Jessie promptly slipped on her butt. We both burst out laughing as she dusted off the smattering of snow from the seat of her pants.
The barn looked spectacular as we pushed the door open. There were dozens of votive lights flickering on surfaces. Sandy and two young female helpers were bustling about quietly in the kitchen area, and Scott, Whitney, Cap, Richard, Christian, and Jane were already gathered on the couches around a huge platter of cheeses, talking animatedly. Everyone appeared to have dressed for dinner, particularly Whitney, who was decked out in a low-cut deep blue dress with sapphires to match on each ear. Snuggled in her deep cleavage was a tiny diamond-encrusted cross dangling from a chain. It seemed positively sacrilegious for it to be ensconced there.
Even Jane was gussied up—in a black spandex dress with her hair pulled back in a curly ponytail. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that her fishnet stockings had a run as wide as a two-lane highway.
“I was just about to send out a sleigh for you two,” Scott proclaimed.
“I insisted we come the outdoor route, and I fell flat on my ass,” Jessie said.
“Well, come right over here and rest it,” Scott said, scooting over to make room for us on the couch.
“You’re not really injured, are you?” Whitney asked, oozing concern.
“No, just my pride,” Jessie said, smiling.
“How about a glass of wine to take away the sting of humiliation?” Richard asked. His dark blue eyes seemed almost bright tonight and his skin even ruddier, suggesting he’d gotten an early start on the evening.
Jessie and I gave our drink orders and then settled into the group. The mood was relaxed, with Scott playing maestro.
Dinner wasn’t served until close to nine because Devon, Tommy, and Tory were so late to arrive—and when they did, both Tommy and Tory looked stoned. Sandy had set out place cards at the table, and I discovered that I had Richard on one side—with Whitney to his left—and Cap on the other, with Tory to his right. Tory immediately grabbed Cap’s attention, so I swiveled my head toward Whitney and Richard, who’d guzzled down two G and T’s just since we’d been at cocktails.
“Were you born in Texas?” I asked Whitney, since Richard was studying the contents of his soup bowl with a blurry-eyed expression.
“Yes, Fort Worth. Born and raised. My mother passed ten years ago, but my daddy’s still there—though he’s not in the best of health.”
“What made you decide to write a cookbook—do you have a food background?”
“I do, yes—but not in the restaurant business. I was in TV news in Dallas, and I specialized in health, nutrition, and food.”
“How did you end up in New York?”
“I came up for a foodie event, and I met Cap while I was here through mutual friends. We spent an amazing week together—and I moved to Manhattan a month later.”
“Do you miss Texas? I assume the answer is yes, since you’re writing a book about the food there.”
“I do—and the good news is that Cap and I are planning to buy a ranch near San Antonio so we can at least vacation there. He’s going to like it as much as I do. People just connect better with each other in that part of the world. It’s all about good, strong values.”
Richard had begun to devour the squash soup with boozy concentration, but at the sound of the word values, he stopped, his spoon poised mid-air. He turned toward Whitney and eyed her, feigning perplexity.
“Don’t you think values are highly overrated, though?” he asked. “I mean, where have they really gotten us?”
“Where have they gotten us?” Whitney exclaimed. “You just have to look around to see that what good there is in the world comes from the actions of people with values—fighting famine and poverty, eradicating disease. Protecting children.”
“In the name of the Lord, you mean?” he asked.
“Sometimes. And with the Lord’s guidance, too.”